


Ne'er the Twain Shall Meet

by lackluster_lexicon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-12-22 10:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackluster_lexicon/pseuds/lackluster_lexicon
Summary: Bucky was Steve's first love, Tony his second. Steve didn't think he'd ever have to consider how to reconcile his two loves meeting until Bucky reappeared.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadesymb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesymb/gifts).



> **Prologue Content Warnings: light BDSM, including some bondage, manhandling, and spanking**
> 
>  
> 
> And so begins my second Stony Trumps Hate fic, this time for jadesymb, who requested some good old-fashioned poly shipping! Both long fic and romantic-sexual Steve/Bucky are pretty outside my wheelhouse, but I'm gonna give both my best shot~ 
> 
> Also, as far as timetable: the bulk of the fic will be in two parts; with the first going up by the end of the September, the second by the end of November, and the epilogue by the end December. It's more time than I usually take, but I'm aiming high for this one, so thanks in advance for your patience ♥

2015

“You’re gonna be late,” Steve said with a purposeful rumble that he hoped would keep Tony exactly where he was: pinned to Steve’s bedroom wall, Steve’s thigh between Tony’s legs and his hands up Tony’s shirt, one of Tony’s knee hitched high on Steve’s hip, his throat bared to Steve’s mouth.

“No shit,” Tony replied with hot puff of a laugh against Steve’s ear. “So get off me -- ”

“Mmm.” Steve slid his hands down Tony’s stomach toward his belt. “I guess I can make it quick.” 

“That is _not_ what I -- ” 

Tony cut himself off with a laugh as Steve lowered himself to his knees, unbuckledTony’s belt, and promptly smacked himself in the nose with the end of it. 

“Kinky,” Tony said. 

His eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled down at Steve, crawled his fingers through Steve’s hair and massaged Steve’s ears, and Steve almost forgot was he was doing as he shut his eyes and let himself appreciate the miracle that was Tony’s hands on him. He gently freed Tony’s cock from his briefs and ran his tongue, broad and flat, up the underside, then flicked the tip of his tongue against the head. Moments like this -- together, vulnerable, intimate -- were of the precious few that he was acutely grateful to experience, when he felt in vivid technicolor instead of grayscale and gunmetal. Since the beginning, Tony had inspired Steve to _feel_ again, and he hoped with every beat of his heart that he offered at least half of something as poignant and perfect to Tony as well. 

“Only for you,” Steve said, before wrapping his hand around the base of Tony’s cock and swallowing him down. 

\---

1938 

Steve bit down on the sock in his mouth as the belt came down on his ass, lighter than he wanted but hard enough to still wrench a moan out of him. Kneeling behind him on the bed, Bucky slowly trailed the looped belt down Steve’s spine before giving him another lash, then followed up with a series of quick, sharp slaps with his bare hand. 

“Don’t know how many times I have to fucking tell you,” Bucky said with a loud final _smack_ , “not to go picking fights by yourself.” 

Steve inhaled deeply through his nose and bowed his head. On his knees and elbows with his ass in the air, he couldn’t turn far enough to see Bucky, but he could hear him well enough when he huffed a sardonic laugh. 

“Is this you being contrite? We’ll see how long _that_ lasts.” 

Bucky wrapped a hand around one of Steve’s ankles and pulled his foot straight up into the air, forcing Steve to turn onto his side. Steve instinctively straightened his other leg to ease the strain on his back, and Bucky was quick to sit on it, pinning Steve to the bed as he raised his free hand and lay another resounded slap to Steve’s ass. Steve inhaled sharply -- tried to swallow -- choked -- and spat out half the sock as he started to cough. Bucky reached across Steve to pull the sock free and tossed it off the bed, then gave Steve another slap. 

“Buck -- ” 

“One of these days, you’re gonna get your ass kicked beyond repair,” Bucky said. He grabbed hold of Steve’s ass and squeezed, then slapped him again. 

“ _Ah_ \-- no, I won’t,” Steve said with a satisfied smile. “You’ll be there.” 

Now Steve could see Bucky when he frowned, and something cold fell into the pit of Steve’s stomach even as Bucky slapped him again. 

“What if I’m not?” 

“You will be,” Steve said again. Bucky was switching hands to hold Steve’s foot up with his right and take hold of his cock with his left. “You always are.” 

Bucky snorted and started jerking Steve off, quick and brutal, not at all what Steve usually liked but exactly what he deserved. He knew he must have looked a mess -- he always did, especially next to Bucky -- gangly and blotchy and sweaty, but fuck if he cared, because Bucky had chosen him and Steve couldn’t imagine a lifetime without him even if he tried. He knew he’d do anything for Bucky, but like this, held open and vulnerable to no one else, Steve was sure he’d kill for Bucky, die for Bucky, live for Bucky. 

“You’re such a sap,” Bucky said. 

Steve rolled his hips into Bucky’s hand, just the way he knew Bucky liked. 

“Only for you,” Steve said.


	2. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no excuse for being this late on a promised chapter, but I'll offer a couple, anyway: between my grandparents' deaths, trying to establish a new life in a new city, and general ennui, I had a good bit of trouble just sitting down to write this. When I finally did, I ended up writing and rewriting the hell out of it. This is the third rewrite and is still very, very rough, but I figure it's about time I posted SOMETHING.
> 
> (And if the first bit seems familiar, it's because I blatantly repurposed "Jim Beam Sunset" for this. I'm a hack, what can I say.)
> 
> Concrit is welcome and encouraged. The next part will deviate from established canon and have significantly more plot, but I think I'm going to refrain from promising a post date, ha. I hope this was worth the wait.

2016

The skin of Steve’s face was numb to the point of pain, but beneath the layers of the suit, he was boiling alive. If he was breathing, it was only because he’d been reduced to the basest functions of the body and not much else; he thought nothing, felt nothing, except the pull and burn in his shoulders as he raised his shield.

To Steve’s left, Bucky lay prone on the snow-strewn concrete.

Underneath Steve, Tony lifted his hands.

\---

2015

“You never told me what she showed you,” Tony said.

Steve pulled his gaze from the setting sun to look at Tony, but Tony faced steadfastly forward even after he spoke. Maybe it was the changing light that deepened the shadows around them, or maybe it was the simple truth of the pressure Tony kept carefully contained within himself, but Steve could trace every crease that had etched itself over Tony’s face. 

Steve had been surprised to see Tony so soon after getting settled into the new Avengers facility upstate, but he was pretty sure he didn’t resent Tony for trying to tap out. If he was honest with himself, though, he hadn’t expected Tony to actually follow through with it, either. Or maybe he’d just missed Tony too much to accept that Tony’s retirement would stick, and wasn’t that precious? Steve really couldn’t live without Tony any more than he could live without the rest of the Avengers, and more, he didn’t want to.

And now they were on the roof of the new Avengers facility, both seated on the parapet – Steve’s legs dangling down, Tony’s crossed under him – with a bottle of bourbon between them, having exhausted their conversation about Stark Industries and the new Avengers’ training and what they’d heard the old Avengers were up to and landed, inevitably, on what they’d both probably been losing sleep over since they’d parted ways.

“Neither did you,” Steve said.

The corner of Tony’s lips twitched, and he tilted his head toward Steve, but he still didn’t turn as he reached for the bottle of bourbon, which Steve swiped from Tony’s fingers at the last second. Finally, Tony turned to Steve, and he was probably halfway to demanding the bottle back when Steve smiled and took a long drag, then handed the bottle over.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew I was still here,” Steve said.

Tony glanced at the bottle, then back at Steve, then at a distant point past Steve’s ear. It wasn’t too far removed from the look Tony had given him when Steve had tried to call him a selfish show-boater three years ago, nor was it a look Steve had been anticipating seeing again.

“You can tell me,” Steve said quietly. “Please.”

Tony blinked rapidly a few times and spared Steve a quick glance. Then he turned away again as he took his drink. A long silence followed, punctuated by the clink of the bottle against concrete as Tony set it down, before Steve spoke.

“It was a Victory Day party,” he said. “Peggy was there.”

This time, when Tony looked to Steve, Steve had to stop himself from looking away. He couldn’t have described Tony’s expression if someone had paid him to, but he recognized enough empathy and heartbreak to feel exceptionally exposed.

(It used to scare him, even anger him, how just a look from Tony could make Steve feel so naked. Now Steve relied on it in a way that was equally as terrifying.)

“She told me the war was over. We could go home. And I turned to look at her, and she was gone. Everything was gone, and...I was alone.”

Tony’s lips parted gently, but he didn’t say anything. Steve had the urge to touch Tony then, to run his thumb over Tony’s lips, but the moment didn’t feel right, not when Tony was striving for some kind of normalcy with Pepper.

(He’d known that this might be a possibility, and he’d accepted it before he and Tony and Pepper had entered into this arrangement. To Steve, there was no such thing as a permanent relationship, so serving as Tony’s “work husband” only made sense; they existed as a unit when the team did, and then Tony went home to Pepper and Steve...went somewhere else. Or stayed with the team. Maybe both. Regardless, he knew better than to expect -- or even want -- to get folded into Tony and Pepper’s relationship. It had worked once, and that was once more than he’d ever dared to hope, but it had also seemed simpler then. More obvious. Tony and Pepper, much like everything else nowadays, was significantly more complicated, and he still wasn’t sure he knew how to navigate it.)

(It figured, though, that Steve had given Nick shit for compartmentalizing, only to try to resort to the same. Maybe he should have asked Nick for pointers.)

“So?” Steve said.

Tony frowned and reached for the bottle again, but he didn’t take it in hand -- just wrapped his fingers lightly around the neck of the bottle.

“You died,” Tony said.

Steve waited. He couldn’t say he was surprised that that’s what Tony saw, though he was disappointed that Tony hadn’t mentioned it sooner.

“The Chitauri were back,” Tony said in a rapid, irritated huff, “and this time we were on the other side of the -- the wormhole, and I could see the earth and all of you -- I couldn’t save any of you.  _ Any  _ of you! And I wasn’t -- I was the only one left.”

Tony drew in a shaking breath, and his voice dropped as he continued, “You told me I could have saved you if I’d done more. And then you died, right in front of me.”

The sun had fully set by now, leaving the two men in a misty purple twilight. Steve set his hand on Tony’s, whose fingers had been idly tapping on the bourbon bottle, and Tony responded by releasing the bottle and letting Steve lace their fingers together. Their hands hovered between them for a moment, and then they silently, unanimously scooted closer together so Steve could rest their joined hands on his thigh, the bottle of bourbon now set aside.

“How does this work, then?” Tony asked quietly.

_ Stay with us _ , Steve wanted to say. _ Stay with me. _

“The team?” Steve said instead.

Tony slowly turned to Steve with a gentle roll of his eyes.

“Sure,” Tony said. “‘The team.’ The one I quit two weeks ago.”

Steve swallowed thickly. This time he was the one to turn away.

“You got out,” Steve said, but the words felt far hollower than when he’d said them to Sam last year, and he hated himself for it. “Go build Pepper that farm and live your life.”

Tony’s hand seized lightly under Steve’s. But he didn’t pull away, so Steve didn’t let go.

“What about you?” Tony said.

“I’ll stay here,” Steve said, now with more conviction. If nothing else, he knew that for as long as he was able, he would stay with the Avengers.

It was the obvious decision, but it wasn’t an easy one. In some intuitive way he couldn’t quite explain, he could feel Tony blinking again, could almost hear the clicking in Tony’s throat.

“I’m staying on as a consultant,” Tony said. “I’ll still be around.”

“I know. And when you come around, I’ll be here.”

Tony’s lips parted with intention, but he swallowed whatever he was going to say. Steve shook their joined hands, and Tony laughed sadly.

“Please say it,” Tony said quietly.

Steve pursed his lips in something of a grimace, but he should have known Tony would see right through him. He hadn’t anticipated that Tony would call him out, though -- but then again, seeing someone die can change things.

So Steve smiled lightly as he said, “I wish you’d stay.”

Tony squeezed Steve’s hand, hard, and Steve tightened his hold in turn. They stayed like that for a while, until Steve felt compelled to break the silence.

“I’m really that obvious?”

“You have a tell,” Tony said with a genuine, almost contented smile. “For just about everything, I might add.”

“So Natasha tells me,” Steve said, “but I can’t seem to break ‘em.”

“Don’t. Keeps you honest.”

Steve had to laugh at that. 

“And what keeps you honest?”

Tony shrugged with one shoulder, tilted his head toward Steve, and lifted his free hand to slowly wave at the glass and concrete compound sprawled before them.

“All of you, I hope.”

\---

1943

The rain had started up again. It was cold, miserable, grey -- and Steve still felt as though he was about to vibrate out of his skin, maybe from continuing adrenaline, maybe from sheer joy and victory and relief. 

Probably both. He’d done it! He’d snuck into a HYDRA base, rescued almost all of the prisoners, and recovered Bucky. Colonel Phillips had finally agreed to officially bring Steve into the SSR fold. Peggy -- well. He wasn’t sure what to make of how Peggy had looked at him upon his return to the camp, but he felt pretty damn good about it.

He felt less good about the look on Bucky’s face when he returned from medical to Steve’s borrowed tent.

“Buck -- ?”

Bucky was on Steve in half a stride and had the front of Steve’s standard-issue white t-shirt in a double-fisted vice grip before Steve could even think to step back.

(Not that he would have.)

“You’re  _ so  _ \-- ” 

Bucky kissed him, hard.

“ -- fucking  _ stupid _ , Steve -- ”

He couldn’t help it; Steve smiled even as Bucky crashed into him again. 

“Yeah?” Steve said with a low chuckle when he could get a word in. “And?”

Bucky made a sound that might have been a snarl and gave him a short, sharp shake.

“Thank God,” Bucky said. “I was starting to worry I might be a goner.”

That punched the air right out of Steve’s chest, but he still didn’t stop -- couldn’t stop? -- wouldn’t stop kissing Bucky, even as he tried to find the words he needed.

“Not on my life,” Steve said, and then Bucky pulled away, just enough so they could see each other. Steve realized, with something of a pang, that he was taller than Bucky now; he also realized, with a different sort of pang, that he was seeing the clear blue of Bucky’s eyes for the first time.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, breathless but subdued. “I know. You fucking jackass.”

Steve laughed, and his chest didn’t ache. His hands were in Bucky’s hair, and he didn’t have to reach way the hell up over his head anymore; his hips were flush with Bucky’s now; if he wanted, he could push back, lay Bucky out and give him everything. He was breathing hard, and it still didn’t hurt; his head was swimming, but not because he was in pain. For the first time in his life, he felt like he really could do this forever.

\---

2016

The silence on the other end of the line was so deafening that Steve was almost certain that Tony had hung up on him -- almost, but not certain enough to pull the phone away and check. His patience rewarded him with a tinny but clearly exhausted sigh.

“This sucks,” Tony said.

Steve almost laughed.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, Steve.”

Steve swallowed thickly. He didn’t have time for this; he could see Redwing returning to Sam, which meant Sam had found what they’d come for.

“Natasha came.”

“To try and talk some sense into you,” Tony said. “Everyone knows you only listen to her and Sam when it’s convenient to you.”

Steve frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Look, Steve -- ”

“Tony -- ”

“ _ Stop.  _ Stop talking. We all know you’re about to do something indescribably stupid, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try to talk you out of it. Where are you?”

His job. Caring about Steve -- no, keeping Steve and the other Avengers in line was Tony's _job_ now.

“Something tells me you already know,” Steve said.

“Of course I fucking know. What I don’t know is if you’ll tell me yourself.”

“I just landed in Bucharest.”

“God  _ dammit _ , Steve -- ”

“What do you expect me to do, Tony? There’s a shoot-to-kill order out on him, and I know he didn’t do this.”

“And how the hell would you know that, Steve?”

“Because I know him.”

“You  _ knew _ him -- but okay, fine, all right, even _if_ he didn’t just blow up the UN headquarters, you can’t just give special forces the finger and save him your fucking self. I don’t know if you were at the same meeting with Ross that I was, but this is exactly the kind of bullshit that has people terrified of us.”

“I’d do it for you,” Steve said. “I’d do it for any of you.”

Tony was inexplicably silent.

“You want to follow the letter of the law?" Steve said. "He deserves due process. He’s not going to get it if I don’t get to him first. I’ll take that fall for him.”

“ _ Fuck _ \-- I know you will. And you better believe we have someone en route to collect all of you.”

Steve smiled wryly to himself.

“Not you, though.”

“No, not fucking me. I can already feel Secretary Ross crawling up my ass about this.”

Sam gave Steve a thumbs up.

“I have to go,” Steve said. “Guess I’ll see you in Berlin.”

“No, come on, Steve, use your head. Please. You just lost Peggy, you aren’t thinking straight -- ”

Steve ended the call. It would be the last time they spoke to each other on the phone.

\---

1945

The night Bucky died, Peggy found him hiding in a bombed-out bar. He should have gone to her, and he knew it, and he’d wanted to, but -- she and Bucky weren’t interchangeable. She wasn’t a surrogate for him. He felt torn open and ragged and howling, and that was a space that was only Bucky’s to fill.

She knew that, too. She told him as much that night, after she’d finally coaxed him out of the bar and down the streets that looked a little too much like how Steve felt. She’d used a kerchief to wipe his face and then laid with him, both fully clothed and wide awake, and held him while he shivered against the cold emptiness at his back.

She wasn’t Bucky, but he loved her, and she loved him, and they both loved Bucky, and as much as they hurt, Steve also knew beyond any doubt that he meant what he’d told Peggy in the bar, that he wouldn’t rest until he’d killed or captured all of HYDRA -- that he’d help win this goddamn war and avenge Bucky, even if he had to compromise everything he’d thought he’d believed in to do it.

\---

2016

Steve dropped the shield to his side and scrambled back off of Tony.

“Jesus,” he whispered.


End file.
